Time and Time Again
by Frith
Summary: Hermione and Draco are repeating the same 12 hours over and over again. How long do you think it will take Draco to realize he can do whatever he wants without any consequences?
1. The Piano and The Pudding

_Time and Time Again_

_Chapter One: The Piano and the Pudding_

* * *

No one knew exactly how long it had been up there. After all, it wasn't exactly the sort of place one expected to find a piano. Nonetheless, in a feat that flouted at least twenty laws of physics — among them the very idea of gravity — perched precariously on the tallest, thinnest pinnacle of the Astronomy Tower, was a piano. And not just a piano, but a concert piano, its dark, freshly polished wood gleaming in the sun.

It first came to the public attention when a second year Hufflepuff, auditioning for the position of Beater on her house team, made one last valiant effort to show off her formidable Quidditch skills to the judges. Swinging her bat at full force, she sent the Bludger zooming toward the Astronomy Tower with one impressive, thunderous crack. It rocketed past the piano, which tottered dangerously in its wake, and kept flying, eventually ending up in a Hogsmeade resident's kitchen sink. (Though the judges were indeed impressed, the poor Hufflepuff did not make the team, as she had in fact been aiming for a straw dummy a good 500 feet to the right.)

Now, Professor McGonagall stood at the foot of the Astronomy Tower, mouth agape, staring up at the piano with an air of utter bewilderment. Five minutes trudged by before the proffesor found her voice again.

"I just don't understand. How on earth did it get up there? And more importantly, how is it staying up there?"

Dumbledore delayed his answer long enough to remove his spectacles from the edge of his crooked nose and wipe them on his sleeve, just in case the piano was actually a speck of dirt. When they were firmly back in place, and the piano still balancing on the Astronomy Tower spire, he responded:

"Perhaps we should also be focusing on the 'who' and 'why'. Why put a piano on top of the tower when it would sound so much better in the Great Hall? It would be impossible to play as you would be in constant fear of having it tip off the top. Who would put a piano in such a ridiculous spot?"

"Some who's mad, obviously."

Ignoring her, he continued: "— Obviously, someone with no intention of actually playing the piano."

"Good, that eliminates all the concert pianists. Who's left?"

Dumbledore quirked a bushy white eyebrow at his companion, letting his pale blue eyes twinkle a little, "I've never seen you so sarcastic, Minerva. Is something bothering you?"

"No! I mean — well, yes. It's just not possible, Albus. Why hasn't it fallen down? There's no possible way a thousand pound _piano _can balance on that teeny, tiny spire. And there's no spell I know of that could achieve that affect." A small wisp of black hair escaped her orderly, tight bun and Dumbledore actually saw three small wrinkles form around her mouth.

"Nevertheless, I'm afraid to go near it until we have a better idea of what it can do. Once, in London, I had a rather vicious encounter with a tambourine, and I'm afraid of a repeat of that event."

The Headmaster cleaned his spectacles one last time and then gave Professor McGonagall a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He really should give the poor woman a vacation. If the strange placement of a piano bothered her like this, he could only imagine how many new wrinkles popped up in a classroom filled with students who transcended all possible levels of logic and common sense.

He turned to leave; he had a dancing lesson in five minutes that he did not want to miss. However, his companion's gawking expression as she struggled to comprehend how the laws of reason could so easily be offended stayed him a moment longer. Checking his rather unique wristwatch, he sighed. Almost seven, he would be late anyhow.

"Really, Minerva. It's just a prank. A rather clever one, I grant you. But a prank nonetheless."

Her eyebrows came down a little, and her face began to smooth. Still, the wrinkles of perplexity did not vanish.

"Come now, class has almost started. You have students to attend to." With that, he departed at a jaunty pace toward the castle, leaving the piano swaying unpleasantly in the crisp morning air.

* * *

"Heads up!"

The warning came exactly two seconds too late. The bowl landed onthe bushy brown head with an audible squelch and thick globs of vanilla pudding seeped out, oozing down Hermione's forehead and nose. Silence descended on the Gryffindor tableas they watched, pale-faced and horror-stricken, pudding slime down her uniform and onto the open pages of a new copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. With a convulsive shudder, Hermione pushed away from the table and stood, dripping pudding.

Seamus blanched. "Sorry, sorry, Hermione. Here, let me get that."

In a perfect gesture of helpfulness, he gripped the bowl currently covering his classmate's busy head and tore it off. The rest of the pudding dropped out of the bowl and onto her head in a massive clump. Hermione's eyes, once hidden by the seemingly innocent blue ceramic of the pudding bowl, pierced Seamus in a fiery glare.

"Um . . . Sorry, again?" Bushy eyebrows drew together and eyes narrowed. Seamus took a careful step back, and then another. Steam — actual steam — rose from her pudding-covered head in a steady column. He cast a wary eye onto her fists: white and clenching and unclenching in theMorse code for murder.

_Gulp_.

Harry rose slowly from his seat, hand stretched forth placatingly, and tried to soothe the savage beast. "Hermione? You're scaring the first years."

And then, Hermione erupted in a volcanic glory that rivaled the Pompeii disaster.

"YOU CLUMSY OAF! I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL WITH THAT PUDDING, DIDN'T I? NOW LOOK AT ME!"

Cowering behind the bowl, Seamus squeaked the word "sorry" several times over.

Hermione combed a handful of pudding from one frizzy brown lock.

"Now I shall be late for Potions." With one last withering look at Seamus, she grabbed her book bag and stormed out of the Great Hall, slicing a path through a group of Ravenclaws.

Ron looked at a still-shaking Seamus and managed to dislodged the bowl from his grip. "The pudding catapult was a bloody brilliant idea, even if it was a rotten place to test it."

"I honestly didn't think it would go flying like that."

"Because, naturally, a catapult never sends things flying across the room." Harry said, scooping a last fork-full of scrambled eggs into his mouth before heading down to the dungeons.

The school bells chimed in the usual chorus. It was three minutes after seven.

* * *

_Late! Late! So late! Very, very, very late. Hurry, hurry. Stupid Seamus and his pudding catapult. Fifteen minutes in the bathroom and I still haven't got out all the pudding. _Fifteen minutes? _I'm so late._ _Late! Late!_

Hair sopping wet from her attempt to rid it of the pudding by shoving it in the bathroom sink and uniform smelling strongly of pudding, Hermione raced down to the dungeons. Using uncharacteristically foul language to describe her rotten luck, she rounded a sharp corner going a speed that put lightning to shame.

Though the laws of physics had been kind enough to turn their heads in the case of the piano, they showed no such kindness to Hermione. As every scientist, driver, and lab mouse knows, when turning a corner, whether it be on the road, in a maze, or in the hallway, you have got to slow down or you will loose control.

Hermione skidded frantically out of control, colliding with an oncoming object gathering considerable momentum. Suddenly, she was on the ground, face down in something soft.

She opened her eyes and saw nothing but a thick wall of black. Just as she was congratulating herself on managing to land on the dungeon's only rug, she began to notice that the rug smelled vaguely of expensive cologne.

"Damn it, Mudblood! Get off me!"

The rug pushed her roughly off and wrinkled his nose in disgust as though she were an enormous cockroach. He began to check his person for any imperfections the unwanted contact might have caused. Results: Severely mussed hair and a damp school uniform.

"Ugh! Why am I all wet? Absolutely disgusting!" Draco Malfoy glared at Hermione, searching her up and down. At last his eyes came to rest on her drenched tangle of hair. He let out a sharp bark of a laugh.

"You look like a drowned rat, Granger. Had a little fight with the Giant Squid, did we?"

Hermione fought back the urge to slap him. Settling instead for a murderous glare and ringing out her hair over his arrogant head, she sprinted the remaining ten yards to the Potions classroom.

When she reached the entrance, she came to a screeching halt. Taking a moment to compose herself, she held her breath and pushed the large, wooden door open.

"Sorry, I'm late—"

"Sit down, Miss Granger, and twenty points from Gryffindor." Snape's beady eyes flashed at her from under a greasy sheet of black hair, his pale face drawn into a satisfied sneer.

With a tiny nod of concession, she hastily found her seat beside Neville and began withdrawing text books from her bag. Just as Neville had finished telling her exactly what potion they were making, Malfoy sauntered in, hands in the pockets of his dry robe and hair slicked back and orderly. Every Gryffindor looked expectantly toward Snape, but he didn't even glance up from the book he was reading.

Hermione glowered at Malfoy, biting her tongue at the injustice of it all. Malfoy caught her glare and smirked, before taking a seat next to Pansy Parkinson.

However, she did not have much time to imagine the many ways Draco Malfoy could meet his unfortunate end, as Neville's potion decided explode just then, spewing boiling hot, purple liquid on them both.

The rest of the day just sort of spiraled down from there.

She and Neville went to the infirmary for treatment for their third degree burns. While they were healing quite speedily thanks to the wonderful lotion Madame Pomfrey applied, she had absolutely no treatment for the potion's side affect: a gaudy array of purple spots up and down their face and arms.

Nonetheless, undaunted by her disfigurement and fully healed of her burns, she returned to the remainder of her classes. Ignoring the general pointing and laughing from a group of Hufflepuffs, she took a test in Arithmancy, which she felt she passed with flying colors.

There was that at least. One single untarnished spot on one perfect blemish of day. No, she had done a tally. This was undoubtably the worst day of her life. Hands down. It had even beaten out the day she got a C on a test in Transfiguration. However, the day finally showed some sign of ending its miserable trudge when the dinner bell rang at six. Hermione gathered up her text books and walked straight past the Great Hall (Lest the pudding catapult return.) and made a beeline for the Library.

Ah, the Library. Her sanctuary. Wrapped in a world of leather-bound books, mahogany shelves, and the crisp, clear smell of parchment, it provided in its cozy sunlit corners a small refuge from the hustle and bustle of the world outside. Hours upon hours had slipped carelessly by while she lounged in her favorite chair--- the one closest to the window --- and nestled her nose deep within the yellowy pages of her favorite book. In the Library she found peace --- just like a clam finds peace in its shell. In the Library every trouble and worry and fear vanished without a single troubling trace.

She walked in, letting the familiar cold blast of air hit her. The minute she threw the door open everything felt better. The easy tranquility of the Library washed over her like the cool waves of the ocean. She breathed deeply and exhaled the jumbled turbulence of a very stressful day.

Making her way through the familiar ocean of books and tables, she chanced a glance out the window that looked out on the Astronomy Tower. There was the piano, actually looking a little sinister in the fading red light of the sunset. She let a smile play across her lips, only for a moment though. It was a prank worthy of the Weasley twins. Poor Professor McGonagall had certainly felt the effects of it, having given her class a thirty minute lecture on modern physics. Hermione, however, did not catch a word of this lecture, as she did a very un-Hermione like thing and ignored it. Instead, she busied herself with whispered incantations to remove the purple spots. By the end of the lecture, she had them all removed or significantly faded.

Drawing her eyes away from the mysterious musical instrument, she turned toward her chair. That familiar, comfortable, favorite chair ---

That someone else was sitting in.

Draco Malfoy sat in _her _chair, basked in _her _sunlight, and read on _her _table.

Normally she would never have confronted him on something like this. But it was her sanctuary, her haven, and he had violated it. Corrupted it. And besides, she was having a very bad day.

"Malfoy. Move."

Malfoy glanced up from his book lazily. He regarded her with his cold, gray eyes for a moment and then sneered.

"Go away, Granger, the sight of you is making me sick."

"Malfoy, that is my chair. I sit there everyday. So move _now_."

Hermione dropped her heavy text books down on the table. They landed with a satisfying, jolting thump that made Malfoy bolt upright.

"This chair doesn't belong to you and I can sit in it as much as I damn well please. Now, go away." He slid his book closer to him and began reading again.

Well, she couldn't really argue that she owned the chair. With a sigh of frustration, she grasped her textbooks and stalked over to the opposite side of the Library and settled on a table by the Ancient Runes section. However, whatever soothing effects the Library had were gone now; its magic snatched away by Malfoy's presence. Hermione rushed through her homework, then gathered her things and left.

She walked down the hall on the verge of tears. She knew it was petty, but she had wanted her chair. It had been such a rotten day. The pudding, the potion, the purple spots --- had it been too much to ask for a simple moment's peace in the library? Apparently so. _Well_, she thought, wiping away a stinging tear before it could roll down her cheek, _at least tomorrow will be different_. _Yes, of course, tomorrow will be something to look forward to. There's always tomorrow._

The bell chimed. It was seven o'clock.

Suddenly a deep, thick darkness enclosed around Hermione, as though a giant had snuffed out the sun. The air went stale, and she felt as though she could break a of it piece off, it felt so still. The world went deathly silent except for a distant tinkling in the distance, muffled but sharp, like a . . . .

* * *

"Heads up!"

The warning came exactly two seconds too late.

* * *

Thanks for reading. If you liked it, please review. If you didn't, review anyway. If I don't know what I'm doing wrong, how will I improve?

--- Sunflower Fortunato


	2. Dracito, My Darling SnoogyPoo

_Time and Time Again_

_Chapter Two: Dracito, My Darling Snoogy-Poo_

* * *

"Good morning, my darling Dracito!"

Draco Malfoy turned away from the mirror and faced his girlfriend, his mouth agape and his eyebrows drawn together in a way that more or less communicated: Dear God, what has the girl come up with now? After a moment of watching Pansy bat her eyelashes at him innocently, he condescended to ask the question she had been dying to hear.

"'Dracito'? Is that some sort of derivative of 'mosquito'?"

From her mouth came a high-pitched squeal of giggle as she playfully ruffled his hair (The hair he'd just spent an hour painstakingly putting into place.).

"No, silly! It's a new nickname I've thought up for you. It's Spanish! You see, in Mexico, or wherever else they speak Spanish, for nicknames they just add '-ito' or '-ita' to the end of a person's name. Millicent told me about it. You see, 'Dracito' actually means little Draco! Isn't that precious? I thought it would be the perfect new nickname for you. I was actually torn between that and the Japanese pet name, Draco-chan, but then I just couldn't resist the idea of my Dracito wearing a sombrero and a poncho. So, from now on, I will call you 'Dracito' and you will call me 'Pansita'. It'll be _so cute_!"

Pansita smiled very wide so all that pent up brilliance could radiate from her and skipped away, but not before planting a big kiss on her beloved's pale cheek.

Draco managed an almost smile in return, a sort of flickering light that sputtered into darkness the minute she turned her back and flounced off. He turned to the mirror, frowning at the disheveled mess that had once been the sublime perfection of his hair. Comb in hand once again, he set out to make right that which Pansita had destroyed.

In the mirror's background, Draco could see her babbling excitedly to an absolutely bewildered Blaise Zambini, no doubt revealing to him the long list of future demeaning endearments she had in store for him.

He had actually liked it when she had started calling him "dear" and "darling" and other stuff like that. He had even found "honey" and "muffin" somewhat flattering, as long as she didn't call him them around any Gryffindors. "Schnookums", "sweetie pie", and "snoogy-poo" he had all graciously tolerated. He had even managed to bear "Lovey-dovey-lovekins" with a slightly forced smile. But "_Dracito"_? An ugly perversion of his own highly aristocratic name? Never! A line had to be drawn somewhere. Let it henceforth be known that no one profanes the illustrious name of Draco Malfoy Esq.

Besides, he wouldn't be caught dead in a sombrero.

Maybe it was time to call it off with Pansy. If she had managed to contrive this many ridiculous endearments in the time they'd been dating, obviously the relationship was getting stale. Also, for a man as amazingly handsome as himself, he really hadn't dated as much as he should. Just a few girls in Slytherin . . .

Two girls . . .

Pansy and a girl named Sally . . .

All right, just Pansy! But he had _kissed_ Sally . . .

On the cheek . . .

Anyway, it was time he expanded his horizons and give the gift of Draco Malfoy to other deserving females, like that hot Ravenclaw who sat next to him in Ancient Runes.

So, he was resolved: he would break up with Pansy and ask out the Ravenclaw. Best if he did it in that order too. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

Draco finished fixing his hair and added a dash of his new cologne. The bell rang, summoning the students to class. Figuring he was already going to be late, Draco ignored it and instead decided on a quick breakfast provided by Goyle's secret muffin store.

* * *

"Pansy, we're just too different . . . No, no, no. Pansy, I know you would be happier with someone more worthy. Well, actually _I'd _be happier with someone more worthy, but the object here is not to get slapped."

Draco strode down the hallway, supercharged on a breakfast of three blueberry muffins, and went over exactly how he was going to dump his girlfriend of five years and the one which everyone, including his parents, had pretty much assumed he was going to marry. He was going to get slapped. He was sure of it.

"Pansy, it's not you; it's me. Pansy, I love you, but I'm just not _in _love with you. Pansy, there comes a time in every relationshi—"

_Smack!_

Very suddenly, Draco Malfoy was lying on his back, something very heavy on top of him. His chest felt damp. Managing to lift his head off the stone floor far enough to see the cause of the dampness, he realized with horror and revulsion exactly who, or more precisely, what, had driven him to the ground.

"Damn it, Mudblood! Get off me!"

Draco shoved her off his noble personage and gagged to see the front of his school robes soaked through. "Ugh! Why am I all wet? Absolutely disgusting!" He turned to the creature who had so befouled his existence and nearly burst out laughing. Well, all right, he didn't _nearly_ burst out laughing. He actually laughed; Hermione Granger was sopping wet, normally frizzy hair hanging down in long, drenched strands, and looked like she'd been drowned. That actually might have been the case. He was sure a lot of people wanted to drown the filthy little know-it-all.

"You look like a drowned rat, Granger. Had a little fight with the Giant Squid, did we?"

Her eyes suddenly flared, bushy eyebrows hovering dangerously over the two raging infernos of pure hatred.

Crap. He was going to get slapped wasn't he?

However, in the end she settled on a less stingy form of vengeance. After ringing out her hair over his head, she raced off to Potions.

It was only then he realized she was late. Hermione Granger was late to a class. The school's own Goody Two-Shoes was tardy. This could only mean two things: the Apocalypse had come and he should be expecting the four horsemen any second now, or, and a little more likely, Potter and his gang were up to something big and he should find out what it was.

Anyway, he wasn't get any drier.

After a moment of meticulous blow-drying spells, he continued to Potions. When he arrived and assumed his traditional seat beside his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, his plans for crafty spy work were spoiled when Pansy informed him of the real reason Hermione Granger was late.

"Dracito, I can't believe we missed it," Pansy whispered into his ear, " Millicent tells me she was absolutely covered in pudding. It was fantastic! She spent forever in the bathroom trying to get all of it out."

So, he wasn't going to be seeing any of the four horsemen after all. Still, the thought of that hoity-toity Granger covered in pudding was something he would cherish forever. A mudblood covered in pudding . . . mudblood pudding . . . blood pudding . . . there was a joke in there somewhere.

After Potions ended and he got to see Granger rushed off to the infirmary covered in purple spots (_Burnt mudblood pudding . . . I don't care for your brand of mudblood pudding, Granger, it's got purple spots . . . No, that's horrible._), Draco set out to perform step one of his master plan: Dump Pansy and Get With the Hot Ravenclaw. Namely, dump Pansy.

He dragged Pansy into a dark corner during the passing period, where he was sure she wouldn't make a scene.

"Pansy, things have changed between us. We're two different people. And there comes a time in every relationship when—"

_Slap! _

"Draco Malfoy, I gave you the best years of my life!"

Pansy then burst into tears and bowled through a group of passing Hufflepuffs on her way to the bathroom. So much for not creating a scene and not getting slapped. But hey, there was always step two to look forward too.

Except the hot Ravenclaw wasn't in Ancient Runes that day. Granger was, her already unbecoming features made worse by a large array of purple spots. He laughed at her, and chased way the disappointment step two's failure by trying to perfect his "Mudblood pudding" joke.

_Normally, Granger, I like blood pudding. But I'm afraid I don't like the mud in it. _

_Blood pudding isn't that good to begin with, so why did you have to soil it with your dirty blood? _

_Blood pudding is traditionally made with swine's blood. Don't you think your mudblood is a step down?_

Oh! That wasn't bad. Could he somehow incorporate the purple spots?

Even though his excellent wit managed to entertain him, it didn't change the fact that he now had no girlfriend. Where was the hot Ravenclaw? Sick? Or playing hooky?

And suddenly, for no reason he could infer, every Slytherin girl was suddenly giving him the cold shoulder. They glared daggers at him. They shoved past him in the hallway. _They had gone mad!_ Millicent Bulstrode slammed the door to Divination on his hand. Then, two fifth years set the text book loose on him in Care of Magical Creatures. After he'd been absolutely ravaged by the fiendish volume, one of them pinched him and said, "Serves you right for how you treated Pansy."

They'd formed an alliance against him! To protect himself against further abuse of the feminine nature, the minute the bells rang the dinner chorus he dashed for the library, where he was positive no friend of Pansy's had ever stepped foot.

Draco stealthily opened the door and slunk in. Taking cover behind a bookcase, he examined the library occupants. It was almost entirely empty, except for the librarian and what appeared to be a couple snogging in the Astrology section.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he selected a book at random and headed to a comfy looking chair by the library's only window. He sunk into the cushion and placed the book on the table before him, glancing at its title.

_The Advanced Laws of Time and Space and Their Plausible Applications in the Wizarding World _

Sounded . . . charming. He opened it up to somewhere in the middle and pretended to read, while his thoughts wandered to tomorrow. It would be miserable. As his father said after Mrs. Malfoy had broken a vase over his head, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Her friends wouldn't forget this and they'd be slamming doors on him until he either made up with Pansy, or Pansy found a new boyfriend with a name to add the suffix "-ito" to. But tomorrow, the hot Ravenclaw would be in class. There was always that to look forward to.

A frown etched itself into Draco's pale face. Breaking up with Pansy should have been simpler. He shook his head feebly against a sudden surge of regret and instead focused on the book in front of him. However, he found his eyes had trouble focusing on the page and instead shifted their gaze to the window.

Dear God. Was that . . . _a piano?_

"Malfoy. Move."

It was Granger, spotless and dry, leering over him and baring her teeth. He thought briefly about using his blood pudding joke, but it suddenly didn't seem worth it.

"Go away, Granger, the sight of you is making me sick."

That was true enough.

"Malfoy, that is my chair. I sit there everyday. So move now." She unloaded her stack of at least six textbooks onto the table. At least none of these were attacking him. Still, it didn't make the sight of her anymore pleasant.

"This chair doesn't belong to you and I can sit in it as much as I damn well please. Now, go way," he replied and then made a great show of ignoring her. This seemed to work, as she grabbed her text books and stormed off in a huff.

Smirking triumphantly, he shut the book and chose a more interesting book from the nearby shelf, _Merlin: The Truth Behind the Man_. He read a few chapters while glancing periodically at the clock and trying to decide if it was safe to go to the Slytherin common room or not.

He figured at about eight, when —

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_ The bells chimed seven. _Ring!_

Darkness descended upon Draco, suffocating him — chocking him — wrapping him in its black coils.

_Ring!_

The library vanished, along with the chair he was sitting in. There was nothing. Nothing but the darkness.

_Ring!_

In the fathomless darkness, the faint sound of music reached his ears, a tune he swore sounded familiar.

_Ring!_

* * *

"Good morning, my darling Dracito!"

Draco whirled around and found himself face to face with Pansy. Only, she wasn't crying, nor was the vein on her left temple throbbing. She was _smiling_.

"Uh . . . Why did you call me Dracito?" Draco asked, taking a step backward.

"It's a new nickname I thought up for you! It's Spanish!"

"Yes, yes, I know all that. But, why are you calling me Dracito? Aren't you mad at me?"

For a moment, Pansy's pug-like face went blank, then she burst out laughing and hugged him, as though she had unearthed the punch line. "Silly Draco," she said, burying her face into his neck, "How could I ever be mad at you?"

"Because I broke up with you yesterday."

Pansy stiffened and abruptly stepped back, mouth an ugly crease and thin, blond eyebrow raised. "What?" He never imagined Pansy's high-pitched, sugary voice could have such a cold edge to it.

"Yesterday. Don't you remember? At least I thought I did . . ." Shaken by a sudden wave of uncertainty, Draco's voice trailed off in thought. No, he was sure he had broken up with her. That's why he'd been in the library. The library? Wasn't he there two seconds ago? Had he passed out? How on earth did he get here?

His revere broke into a thousand pieces when Pansy, his possible girlfriend, broke into a bout of squealing laughter.

"Oh, I get it, Draco. You're teasing me. As if you could ever break up with me." She hugged him again.

This made no sense. "Pansy, what is today?"

"Tuesday."

"No, that's not possible. Yesterday was Tuesday," Draco countered.

"_No_, yesterday was _Monday_. Today is Tuesday. Are you feeling alright, Snoogy-poo? This isn't a ploy to get out of the test in Arithmancy, is it?"

"No, I already took that test. I remember because that stupid Mudblood beat me out for the highest . . ." Granger! If today was really yesterday, then, right about now, she should be getting pudding-ed in the Great Hall! So, if that was, in fact, happening, then, chronological order had somehow been extremely confused.

Draco pushed past Pansy and sprinted up the two flights of stairs that led to the Great Hall. He knocked over several people in his pursuit, including the couple that had been snogging in the library yesterday — er, today.

Breathing hard and clutching at his chest, he shoved his way into the Great Hall and searched out the Gryffindor table. Sure enough, Granger was sitting there, drenched in pudding, and looking, bewildered, at a blue ceramic bowl.

Well, crap.

* * *

Thanks for all the fantastic reviews, and please, keep them coming! They're what I live for! Sorry, for the lack of update-age, but school ended and I was whisked away on a vacation spanning several states. The next chapter should be coming up pretty soon.

Also, I was sorely tempted to put the Sebald Code in this chapter, but decided against it, even though I was given ample opportunity. Alas. For those of you who actually know what the Sebald Code is, you have my love.

Once again, if you read, please review. Even if only to say "hi".

--- Sunflower Fortunato


	3. Deja Vu in a Bad Way

_Time and Time Again_

_Chapter Three: Deja Vu in a Bad Way_

* * *

Hermione stared at the blue ceramic bowl clutched in her pudding-covered hands. She stared a long time, for several minutes, and said absolutely nothing.

Seamus had stood silently by, awaiting the extreme verbal lashing he would most definitely receive, but as yet another minute crept past and all Hermione did was continue to stare wide-eyed at the bowl, his impatience began to outweigh his fear of being yelled at. Chancing a step closer, Seamus repeated his apology.

"Uh, Hermione? Did you hear me? I said I was sorry. I really, really am," Seamus waited again. Across the table, Harry began to stand up, giving Seamus a questioning look.

"What did you put in that pudding?" Harry asked.

Seamus shrugged, "It's just regular pudding! I swear! I nicked it from dinner last night."

"Oh, yeah, I remember," inserted Ron, "That was some really good pudding. I think they put nutmeg in it or something."

"Yeah, it was perfectly fine pudding, I just think Hermione's gone mental or something."

"Gone? She's been there and back already," Ron snorted.

"Seriously."

Harry reached over and shook Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione? Are you okay?"

She blinked and started at Harry, then shook her head and blinked several more times. When at last she did speak, her words came slowly — almost cautiously — the way people spoke when they were trying very hard to figure out a math problem.

"Harry . . . ," she took a deep breath, "What day is it?"

Harry cast a sidewards glance at Seamus and then answered, just as slowly, "It's Tuesday, Hermione."

Chewing her bottom lip pensively, she slipped once again into silence, and then sighed. "I thought so. This is very bad."

"Why?"

"Because I've done all this before!" She exploded,"Seamus tested that ridiculous pudding catapult yesterday! Er, well, today. I'm repeating this day for some reason! I don't know what happened. I was just walking down the hallway and everything suddenly went dark! And now I've been pudding-ed again! AGAIN! It was horrible the first time — this whole day was horrible the first time! The purple spots, the pudding, Malfoy sitting in my chair . . . I do not want to got through that again! Something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. The only way I could explain this is a time turner, but I haven't had one since third year! What's going on, Harry, _WHAT'S GOING ON!_?"

"Uh, Hermione? Did that bowl hit you awfully hard in the head?"

"It makes no sense! Everything went black and there was this strange sound that I can't quite place and . . . ."

The school bells interrupted her, and Hermione froze.

"And I'll be late for the second time!" She grabbed her book bag and dashed away, trailing pudding.

Harry, Ron, and Seamus stood in pale-faced, open-mouthed bewilderment, watching Hermione run into a throng of students hastily getting to their classes. Harry's gaze shifted from Ron to Seamus to the disappearing Hermione and cleared his throat.

"I think you're right, Ron."

"Yeah?"

"She's gone mental."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure there's nothing in that pudding, Seamus?"

"Well, I was, but not so much anymore."

* * *

Draco paced back and forth in the hallway outside Potions, hands clasped firmly behind his back to resist the old, undignified habit of biting his nails. A simple comfort in his weaker years to settle his nerves, but a shameful disgrace upon his noble personage. Nonetheless, he inspected one finely manicured hand longingly before thrusting it behind his back again.

_Okay, let's think through this. For reasons quite unknown, you are repeating this day again. You have no idea why, but would like to know. It must be something about yesterday. Well, it started out well, but dumping Pansy may have been a slight mistake. After all, I didn't expect all the girls in Slytherin to suddenly go berserk like that. So, perhaps some sort of higher power has decided to give me a second chance at this. To make this day better._

Well, it wasn't the best theory ever, but it certainly was the most plausible. His mistake yesterday was dumping Pansy without thinking of the consequences, that is to say, the backlash from her friends. So, what he really had to was dump Pansy in a way so that her friends could not find him at fault. Or, better yet, have Pansy dump him! Brilliant! Brilliant! Absolute genius!

_Ring! _went the school bells, and Draco pushed in the door to Potions. He thought this rather surprised Snape, as in all his years of teaching, Draco couldn't imagine any students ever showing up early. With a nod of acknowledgment, he took his usual seat and steepled his fingers in front of him, the gears of his mind formulating his most devious and cunning plan yet.

* * *

Hermione dunked her head under the faucet and ran her fingers through her hair, combing out the last of the pudding. Slamming the nob back into place, she flung her hair back and checked herself in the mirror. Same as last time — though she would never admit it, Malfoy had been right when he'd described her as a drowned rat. Her lips creased into a frown as she examined her robes, but quickly pushed thoughts of getting a fresh change of clothes out of her mind. There was no time, she was even later than yesterday—er, today. Well, yesterday today. Today the last time. Yester-today. Er . . . Never mind.

Just as she did the last time, Hermione sprinted to Potions. However, made wiser by her mistakes, she slowed down considerably as she came to every corner. Not that it would have mattered, Malfoy was already in Potions by the time she got there. She must be much later than last time.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Granger. Take a seat and twenty points from Gryffindor."

She cast a wary eye at the empty stool next to Neville. The third degree burns had really hurt. At least this time, she was prepared. Sliding her stool just out of range of the forthcoming explosion, she sat down and prepared the ingredients for a potion she'd already made.

The all to familiar sound of Pansy Parkinson's high-pitched giggle came wafting to Hermione's ears and she heard her say in not much of whisper, "Look at her, Muffin, she's still got a bit of pudding in her hair."

Very quickly, Hermione patted her hair until her fingers squelched into a glob of pudding the bathroom faucet had failed to extricate.

_This is fantastic. Of all the days I could have repeated it had to be the one Seamus decided to test his pudding catapult. Of all the stupid, harebrained things . . ._

Suddenly, Neville's potion began to bubble. Hermione grabbed him and pulled him out of the way just as it erupted like a purple geyser, raining down showers of purple rain. They both escaped deliciously unscathed, aside from Neville getting detention and Gryffindor losing fifty points.

_No purple spots this time! Haha!_

* * *

Draco watched as Granger flounced out of Potions, a little puzzled. _That _had been different. He'd actually been looking forward to seeing her with purple spots again. Why had everything else been exactly the same but the prude of a Mudblood escapes a purple explosion? Perhaps something he did different made Granger do that different. She hadn't ploughed into him like a freight train this time, maybe that was it. Anyway, he couldn't let things like that distract him right now. Not when he had Operation Have Pansy Dump Him And Then Get With The Hot Ravenclaw When This Is All Over to attend to.

Commencing step one.

It was going to be all too easy.

* * *

As Hermione walked to Charms in a considerable good mood, Harry and Ron caught up to her and took sentinel positions by either shoulder.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron puffed, breathing a little hard in his effort to match Hermione's brisk pace.

"Hey," Harry repeated, green eyes flashing with concern behind his thick glasses.

"Hello."

"You . . . feeling all right? This morning . . ."

Hermione's pace slowed. Should she tell them? She supposed it was important to, but, at the same time, they couldn't really do anything about it. Whatever was happening to her didn't show any sign of meddling by You-Know-Who. Not yet anyway. Hermione met Harry's eyes and furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. Whatever this was she could figure it out on her own.

"Oh, sorry about that. I think I was just a little confused, that's all. One doesn't exactly expect to be drenched in pudding first thing in the morning."

"Oh." By the way he continued to stare at her, she could tell Harry didn't believe her. She hazarded a smile at him and then picked up her pace.

* * *

Millicent Bulstrode sat at her desk, doodling pictures of kittens around her Ancient Runes notes. Stepping into the classroom, Draco spotted her easily — Millicent was not an easy girl to miss — and took a moment to prepare himself.

When he was ready, he plopped down into the stool beside Millicent and heaved one of the most heavy, most angry sighs he'd ever heaved in his life.

She looked up from her kitten doodles, startled to see Draco sitting next to her, nostrils flaring and mouth frowning so much it was almost ridiculous.

"Draco, is something wrong?"

"The nerve of that Zambini! I should hex him into the next century."

Suddenly, Millicent's eyes grew very wide, as she had just spotted a new, juicy piece of gossip. "What did Blaise do?"

Draco seemed to look surprised at finding her sitting next to him, but continued nonetheless.

"That arrogant git has the pomposity to come up to me and ask me if I'm still going out with Pansy!"

"What? Why?"

Beating his fist on the table for a more dramatic effect, Draco suppressed a smile at his theatrical brilliance.

"He says he has always liked her and thinks she would be much happier with him. Can you believe it? The very audacity!"

Millicent nodded fervently and spent a great deal of time attempting to console him. Trying very hard to not laugh at his genius, he listened to all her sympathies, already seeing his plan clicking into place.

* * *

Harry rounded on her, "Hermione, if anything's wrong, you should go to the infirmary. Really, you sounded a little more than confused after the pudding incident. You sounded —"

"'Severely freaked out'?" provided Ron. Harry nodded.

"I'm all right. Really. Honestly, you two, _I'm _usually the worry-wart."

Pushing past them, Hermione at last retreated into the safety of Charms. Perhaps, this was just a surfacing of a thus far unknown prophetic ability. Yesterday/today might never have even happened, but merely was her vision of it happening. True, she'd dropped Divination because she put no stock in this nonsense, but there was no better explanation.

* * *

Almost as if in on cue, Pansy dragged Draco into a secluded corner almost exactly as he had yesterday. In fact, she did it a lot faster then he had expected her to. Millicent must have wasted absolutely no time.

"Draco," she began, in an understanding tone of voice meant to broadcast a sense of compassion, "We've been going out a long time now. But . . . ,"tears brimming in her eyes, she clasped her hands together, "people change. _I've_ changed. And there comes a time in every relationship where people just drift apart. I think . . . I think we should break up."

Draco resisted the urge to scream "I've given you the best years of my life!" at her. Still, he had to make this convincing.

"Pansy, I don't understand. I thought we had something." Dear God, he was a fantastic actor. He was really tempted to look into theater as a career.

"I know. I know. And I'm so sorry. Goodbye, Draco." And then she kissed him, a very slight, pity kiss.

As she walked off, Draco pondered if he should be offended at how easily that worked. How readily Pansy had dumped him for a chance at Blaise Zambini. However, those thoughts were diminished by images of the Ravenclaw, dressed in something particularly elegant, on their date. After, of course, he asked her out tomorrow.

* * *

Classes ended and Hermione trekked up to the library. When she entered into her wonderful sanctuary, she was rather surprised to find her usual spot unoccupied by the taint of Malfoy. All she could figure was that something different she did today caused Malfoy to pursue a different place to spend his evening. She sat down, almost giddily, and pulled out her homework. (She'd already done it last time, but it didn't change the fact that it was still due tomorrow.)

Today had been _much _better. No purple spots, she had got to go to the classes she'd missed yesterday, she got an even higher score on her Arithmancy test then last time (She felt slightly guilty about this, after all it was sort of like cheating. She made sure to get just a few wrong.), and, now, she got to sit inher spot in the library. Yes, there had still been the pudding, but that was minor in the broad scheme of things. The only thing she really regretted was being late for Potions again. Still, this couldn't be helped.

Folding out a piece of parchment in preparation for her Charms homework, she began writing out the answer to the very first question.

_That went very well for my first vision into the future. I'd rather they didn't happen often though, it was terribly confusing. The vision is so _real.

* * *

Draco sniggered into his clam chowder. He sat at the dinner table, which he could attend this time without fear of being slapped, and watched the scene taking place down the bench discreetly. Though they were too far away and the Great Hall to loud for him to hear what they were saying, Draco could very easily guess.

"Blaise-ito! Here I am!" Pansy exclaims, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Gaah! Pansy! What are you doing?" Blaise thrusts her arms off his shoulders and pushes her back, looking offended.

"Hugging you, Muffin. I dumped Draco for you!"

"Then you made a mistake," Blaise sneers at her. Blaise had a very good sneer. Not as good as Draco's, of course, but it won the silver medal.

"What? But you said . . . ,"

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about."

It was fabulous! Draco clapped a hand over his mouth and nearly snorted out his soup. She'd want him back, of course. But he wasn't about to do that. Not after he'd learned how fickle she was.

Pansy sat down next to Millicent, looking utterly dejected and in the true fashion of girls, Millicent patted her consolingly on the back.

Ah, thus were the results of his cleverness. Tomorrow, he could ask out the Ravenclaw without fear of being tripped in the hallway, or being called a total jerk. Fate had given him a second chance, and he'd taken it to its fullest. Let it never be said that Draco Malfoy sneezes at opportunity.

Well, back to his clam chowder. There was still step two to get through, and he'd want to look his best tomorrow.

* * *

The bells chimed seven.

* * *

A deathly hush fell upon the Great Hall; the only sound was the splash of Draco's spoon as it clatered into the bowl. Eyes wide, he looked frantically around as darkness once again seeped in and flooded the room. Gasping, he pushed back from the table, only to find it wasn't there anymore.

_No! Not again!_

* * *

"Good morning, my darling Dracito!"

Draco bonked his head against the mirror.

* * *

Well, here's chapter three in all it's glory. I'd like to thank you all for the fantastic reviews. You guys are the best.

I'm sorry for how slow this has been, but I promise it picks up in the next chapter. Speaking of which, it's going to be at least two weeks coming because I'm going on vacation again. I'm really, really sorry.

_Sunflower_


	4. Let's Do the Time Warp Again!

_Time and Time Again_

_Chapter Four: Let's Do the Time Warp Again!_

* * *

Okay, strike one theory. Hermione wasn't having visions of the future. That was alright, she hadn't really been to thrilled with experiencing something she had publicly proclaimed as being "ridiculous"— So, for the first time in her life being wrong wasn't very upsetting. The only thing that was upsetting was the fact that she no longer had an explanation for what was happening to her.

Removing the bowl from her head, Hermione mopped a blob of congealing pudding from her eyes. After heaving a very heavy sigh (the sort of sigh you only heaved after three straight days of being drenched in pudding), she shoved the bowl into Seamus's arms and stood up.

It wasn't a time turner. She'd dealt with time turners before. It only affected the one wearing it and, as far as she knew, she wasn't wearing one. Likewise, she couldn't recall stepping into any time machines lately. So, that ruled out every obvious explanation.

What really bothered her was why her? Of all the entire student body, of every single person in Hogwarts, why did she have to be the one to suffer? And why this day? What sort of sick, twisted maniac chose to repeat _this _day? Yesterday had been all right; she would have happily repeated that day. But no, it had to be the day of the pudding.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione."

Momentarily halting her train of thought to glare at Seamus, she continued: had she done something wrong to deserve this? There was only one discretion she could think of. She had been late to Potions. Both times. Could that be it? This entire time loop a punishment for her tardiness? That must be it! How could she have been so blind? Missing Potions to satisfy her vanity, when she just should have gone despite the pudding! Well, she won't make that mistake again.

The bells rang and Hermione was off. Running like a woman possessed, she flew down the corridors to Potions. Then she stopped and turned back because she had left her books at the table. But then she was off again! Bursting through the door to Potions mere seconds before the tardy bells sounded.

Ignoring the awe-stricken stares from the Slytherins as they watched a pudding-covered monster cross the classroom, Hermione held her head high, proud that she had discovered at last the secret to her predicament, and took her seat. The eruption of laughter that issued from the other house fell on deaf ears.

However, the laughter abruptly stopped as Snape entered the classroom, black cloak billowing behind him . Catching sight of Hermione, he halted his trek to his desk momentarily. His black eyes searched the student up and down and the familiar condescending sneer curled his lips.

"Pudding goes in your mouth, Miss Granger," he said and turned his back as giggles rippled through the class.

Hermione continued to sit up straight with hands folded in front of her with the air of a martyr. Embarrassment didn't matter, she was doing the right thing and that was all that mattered.

"Very well class, turn your text books to page three hundred and twelve and make the potion found there." A momentary pause as books thumped onto desks and pages hastily turned. "Are there any questions?"

This statement was purely a formality. Snape did not expect and, in fact, did not want his students to ask questions. The unfortunate students who did raise their hand only did so once. Neville had lifted his pudgy hand into the air first year, and the poor boy still had nightmares about it.

So, imagine the surprise as one loud and firm voice rang through the dungeon.

"Yeah, I've got a question. What the hell is going on here?"

It was Draco Malfoy, standing with his hands placed on his desk and eyes blazing. In the silence that ensued, Hermione, for a brief moment, swore she could just barely make out the sound of pin being dropped somewhere in China.

Even Snape stood still, utterly shocked, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He didn't seem to know how to respond. However, Malfoy didn't wait for an answer.

"This is third time — did you hear that?— _third time _I've gone through this stupid day. And it wasn't that good the FIRST TIME! I'm absolutely sick of this. I've made this idiotic potion _three_ times now. I still have no idea what it does! Other than, when concocted incorrectly, it covers people with purple spots---"

Hermione froze. _Oh my God._

"Now as much as I enjoyed ending my relationship with Pansy twice ("_WHAT?_"), I'm ready for tomorrow. So, if somebody could please explain— "

"I've been going through the exact same thing!"

Clapping his mouth shut, he stopped dead and turned to face her, eyes wide with surprise as he regarded her. He blinked several times before he spoke again, as though trying to decide whether or not he should be offended the he and the "mudblood" shared an experience.

"You . . . have?"

_Well, Draco Malfoy, just this once, I forgive you for being surprised that the world doesn't revolve around you_, Hermione thought before nodding, "Yes, I have. I don't understand what's happening either, sadly. I go through this entire day and just when its about ended it starts over. I've had to endure Seamus and his ridiculous pudding catapult three times!"

Malfoy shook his head, recovering from shock.

"Yes, well . . . . The point is, I'd really like to know what's going on!"

* * *

"Unfortunately, I have no idea what's going on, Mr. Malfoy. Please take a seat."

Malfoy preferred to stand, looking pointedly to the left of the proffered chair. Hermione, however, took the seat next to it, a tall, overstuffed armchair with a pink floral pattern. Sinking into the comfortable cushion, she looked expectantly at Dumbledore across his cluttered desk.

The Headmaster appraised them over the rims of his half moon spectacles, drumming his fingers on his desk thoughtfully.

Chancing a subtle glance over her shoulder, Hermione examined the sullen Malfoy. Standing in Dumbledore's cheerful and overly frilly office didn't seem to suit him. It was almost like a vampire attending a tea party. _He does look awfully vampiric, doesn't he?_ She thought as she further observed the specimen: pale skin and pale hair that contrasted sharply with his black Hogwarts' robes. Arms folded over his chest, he scowled at the office wall with disdain. He had made it perfectly clear he found her company during this adventure disgusting to say the least. Oh, she wanted to smack that haughty look off his blood-sucking face.

Dumbledore directed his attention to Hermione, finding her the most willing of the two. "So, to review, you've been repeating this day for absolutely no plausible reason. It's only you two. No one else."

Malfoy scoffed.

Hermione shot him a glare, "Well, there may be others. But we're the only ones we know of. It's not the entire day, though. It seems to go from seven to seven."

"Ah, twelve hours then?" Dumbledore nodded in answer to his own question and once again became pensive.

Raising one bushy white eyebrow, he cocked his head to one side as he asked,"Did you come to me about this last time? Half we had this conversation before?"

"No, Sir. Yesterday I did attempt to explain this to Harry and Ron but they didn't seem to understand—"

Malfoy scoffed again.

"—so I gave up. Besides, I eventually came to the conclusion that . . ." Hermione bit her lip suddenly.

"Yes?"

She sighed, "That I was experiencing some sort of prophetic vision of things to come."

Malfoy burst out laughing, "That's the most ridiculous— "

"I'm rather interested, Mr. Malfoy, to hear how you explained the strange reoccurrence of time."

His mouth snapped shut and he looked down. "I . . . uh . . ."

"We're waiting. Mr. Malfoy."

"Well, the first day things didn't exactly go well," he shuffled a little uncomfortably, "so I thought, perhaps, I was being given a second chance . . . by some sort of higher power. . . ."

Hermione didn't even try to stifle her laugh.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Now, let's consider why this is only happening to you two. A reason it's only affecting you. Can you think of anything that you might have in common?"

They looked at each other.

"I think it's safe to say the answer is 'no,'" Malfoy said, while Hermione resisted the childish temptation to stick her tongue out at the stuck-up git.

"No? Nothing at all? Not even a favorite flavor of lollipop?" Dumbledore smiled helpfully.

"No offense, Professor, but I doubt our favorite flavor of lollipop has anything to do with this time loop," she replied, ignoring Malfoy's derisive chuckle.

"You never know . . . ." Letting the sentence trail off, the Headmaster gazed wistfully at a patch of air somewhere above Hermione's head. The clock ticked off a long list of seconds and still he did not return from his glazed meditation. Exchanging brief glances with Malfoy, in reply to which he shrugged, Hermione cleared her throat.

"Professor?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Our predicament?"

"Ah! Yes! Well, I've given it a great deal of thought and have decided that you are probably correct, Miss Granger. I don't see how lollipops can have anything to do with a time loop."

"God preserve us!" Malfoy threw his head back and groaned.

"Just a moment, I wasn't finished. I've determined, also, that I cannot help you with this, as after the next time loop I'll have no recollection of these events and you'll just have to start from square one. So, it's up to you two. You must try to discover exactly what connection you share to make you both the victims of the bizarre event. Only then will you be able to figure out how this is happening. I'm afraid you'll both have to get to know each other a great deal to accomplish this. As well learn to work together. I can tell already this won't be easy, but it's what you have to do," Dumbledore rose from his seat and guided them both to the door.

"I suggest finding a nice quiet room somewhere in the castle where you may sit and discuss yourselves and what you have in common. I think this may be a good learning experience for both of you." With that final note, he pushed them out the door and slammed it behind them, leaving two extremely confused students in the hallway.

Malfoy was the first to speak, stuffing his hands in his pockets and sneering, "That was absolutely useless. How that old crackpot became headmaster is beyond me."

Hermione spun to face him. "He is not a crackpot!" she exclaimed, "He's just a tad . . . eccentric."

Eyeing her condescendingly, he snorted, "'Lollipops?' _Really_?"

"I did say he was eccentric. However, he was right. There is a reason its only affecting us. Something we have in common and we need to find out what it is. Now, I know of an empty classroom on the fourth floor that should work very well for—"

"I think I'll pass, Granger. I highly doubt we have anything significant in common. It's probably just a bizarre fluke. Either way, I think I can handle this without your filthy help," Malfoy smirked and strode down the hallway and out of sight.

"Oh! Fine!" Hermione huffed. She could do this without that pompous jerk.

_Well_, she thought sighing, _this means long hours at the library. I suppose I'd better get started; it's almost seven_.

_Ugh . . ._ If only there was a way to avoid the blasted pudding.

* * *

Draco shoved his way past a flock of giggling second year girls into the Slytherin common room. Ignoring a shout of outrage from Pansy, he tramped up the stairs to the boys' dormitory and slammed the door behind him.

_Ridiculous . . . absolutely ridiculous._

He spared a moment to lock the door before falling, face first, onto his bed.

Not only was he trapped in a time loop, he was trapped in a time loop with Granger. _Granger!_ Of all people, Granger! Anyone— anyone— would have been better. Even that idiot ground-keeper, Hagrid. That had to be the worst part of this, even worse than having to break up with Pansy _again_.

Not that it mattered. He could break up with her a thousand times, each in a new and exciting way, and the next loop she's be throwing her arms around him and calling him 'Dracito'. Really, he could proclaim his undying love for MacGonagall and then kiss her in front of the entire school and next loop no one would even remember.

He blinked, sitting up sharply on his bed. _No one would even remember . . . . _It was a thought, but would it work? He need something, something to prove his theory.

Glancing around the room, his eyes fell on his small black comb, lying next to his mirror. He snatched it up and held it between his hands. Thoughts buzzed around his head.

_Well, let's just see how this plays out._

Starring at it for a moment, he gripped both ends of the comb and flexed. It snapped in half.

Laying the broken pieces back on the table, he sat. And waited.

Soon, the old, familiar darkness crept around him, encasing him neatly in a black shell. The dormitory vanished and soon nothing existed in the starless night except the distant sound of music.

* * *

"Good morning, my darling Dracito!"

Draco looked down at the small black comb he held in his hand.

It wasn't broken.

* * *

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! An update! Wheeeeeeeeeeee! Draco and Hermione hate each other! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I also changed my penname! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Ilike to say "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Anyway, regarding this chapter: I had a little bit of trouble with it. I knew _what _I want to write, I just always didn't know _how_ to. It was pretty frustrating, but I think I managed something half-way decent. However, during the points where all I could do was stare at the screen and wonder how the heck I was going to put this into words, I busied myself by going back and fixing the more glaring mistakes made in previous chapters. (For those of you who noticed my reference to the "morose code", I kindly thank you for not pointing it out and saving me the embarrassment. It's fixed now. )

Though, I've just realized, at the rate I'm going, I'm going to run out of ideas fast. I mean, I have plans (Big plans!) for crazy hijinks in upcoming chapters, just not as many as I hoped. So, if anyone has any ideas, they would be gratefully accepted.

Also, many thanks to my uber awesome reviewers. You guys are my sunshine on a cloudy day. Thanks a hundred times over!

Please note that twenty percent of your review will be donated to help fund orphanages in Kathmanastain. Review and make an orphan smile.

love, frith


	5. “¿Dondé está mi burrito?”

_Time and Time Again_

_Chapter Five: "¿Dondé está mi burrito?"_

* * *

7:00

Pudding-ed. Resisted urge to throw bowl at Seamus Finnigan's catapult-building face.

7:15

Ran the usual marathon down to the dungeons after diving into the bathroom sink. Hermione was not precisely sure what working with Draco Malfoy would be like, but if she was going to endure teaming up with the slimiest git in all of Great Britain, she was not going to do it drenched in a dairy-based dessert.

With the usual grace, Hermione wrenched open the heavy Potions' door and entered the dank classroom.

Cue Snape's snide remark.

"Ah! Miss Granger, how kind of you to join us at last. Kindly sit down while I take twenty points from Gryffindor."

Sigh. Another fabulous day of Potions. Drawing up her stool, she very, very slowly and very, very discreetly drew her wand from the folds of her robe. With almost nonexistent flicks of her wand, she managed, after five painstaking minutes, to spell out a message for Malfoy to meet her after class in the courtyard.

It was just a shame Malfoy wasn't there to read it. Looking over, Hermione found his usual spot empty. Pansy stood next to it, giddily chatting with Millicent as she stirred her potion. It seemed he had opted not to dump his girlfriend for a third time. Straining her ear over the noisy buzz of the class, Hermione could just barely make out their conversation.

"So, he liked it?" Millicent asked, clenching her teeth as she dropped a slimy eel gut into the cauldron.

"Yup! He adored it! He said it was a fantastic nickname. And it is, isn't it? Why wouldn't he want to be called 'Dracito'? It's precious!"

Hermione took a brief break from her eavesdropping to inform Neville of the correct amount of powered piranha fins to put in his potion. He gave her a shy little smile of thanks and emptied the measuring cup into the boiling cauldron. (Here, while he was distracted, Hermione took the opportunity to slide her stool out of range and hold her breath — just in case.)

The potion gurgled, splurged, and then burped. A foul smelling stench, somewhere between rotten eggs and ammonia, steamed from the greenish liquid. That . . . wasn't right. Oh, well, at least it wasn't exploding. Poor Neville did look a little green though.

With that episode over, she leaned forward once again to listen to Pansy's conversation in hopes of learning Malfoy's whereabouts, when—

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaHOOOOOOOOOOOOooooWEEEEEEwooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

First reaction: Dive under desk and throw arms over head in preparation for forthcoming nuclear meltdown.

Second reaction: Try to recover dignity from first reaction and look to see what actually happened.

Peeves rocketed through the dungeon ceiling and crashed into Snape's desk, launching ten heavy text books at the startled professor's head. From there he managed to right himself and hover innocently above the Potions Master's prostrate body.

"PEEVES!"

"Hi, Snapey! Just thought I'd _drop _in for a _spell_. HA! Get it? Haha!" the poltergeist snorted and did a couple of back flips in the air.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"Nothing at all, Beak-Nose. 'Cept I decided to spend some quality time with the kiddies," he stopped to twiddle his fingers at Harry, "and — Oh! To deliver a message for my good buddy, Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Carlos (or Carlito as his wife sometimes liked to call him) Ramirez had just come home from a very long day at work. As he stepped out of his rickety car and into the cold Mexican night, his stomach gave one long, hungry growl. He'd worked through lunch that day.

However, his nose caught a whiff of the air and he knew at once his hunger would soon be eased. His wife was cooking burritos, already he could smell the slow-cooked beans and melting cheese. Aw, sweet heavenly bliss. On the record, Carlos would say he married his wife because her sparkling, dark eyes captivated his soul. Even so, if put under the scrutiny of some Veritaserum, he'd be forced admit he'd married Lupe (Lupita) Garcia for one reason and one reason only: her burritos.

He loved those burritos. More than life itself.

Pushing open his front door, he had the presence of mind to kiss his wife on the cheek before bursting into the kitchen. There he knew his burrito was waiting for him, sizzling scrumptiously on the counter top.

But the counter was empty. The enticing flavor still lingered in the air, but there was nothing but bare granite. The table was empty too. And the refrigerator, the bread box, the window sill, and underneath the sink. He even checked the bush outside the window.

All the while his stomach begged for nourishment with louder and louder rumbles. Ten minutes of frantic searching, and he slammed the kitchen door shut and screamed at his wife:

"¿Dondé está mi burrito?"

All across Mexico, a hundred other hungry citizens were asking the exact same question.

* * *

Peeves floated over to Pansy, who looked up with both fear and morbid curiosity in her eyes. He snorted and clapped a ghostly hand over his mouth before managing to squeak out his message between giggles.

"Message for Pansy Parkinson from Draco Malfoy. It reads:"

He thrust his arms into the air and a swirling green vortex warped the dungeon ceiling above Pansy's head. It whirled rapidly round and round like a tornado, green lightning crackling in the maelstrom.

"'_DRACITO THIS!_'"

He swung his arms down. Pansy screamed.

Burritos, hundreds and hundreds of bean and cheese filled burritos, dropped out of the vortex and onto Pansy's head, burying her completely under Mexican cuisine.

Bursting into riotous laughter, Peeves zoomed out the door, Hermione hot on his heels.

"Wait, Peeves, stop!"

The poltergeist slowed, and turned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Hello, girly, what does the bush-head want?"

Checking her anger with a false smile, she sugar-coated her words as much as possible, "Do you know where Malfoy is? I need to talk to him."

"And why should I tell you, Miss Prissy?

"Because . . . ," _Think, Hermione, think_, "I've . . . got a secret?"

The double-wide smile slipped from his face.

"A secret? What sort of secret?"

_Ah, bingo. _Hermione folded her arms, and flashed him a wry smirk."Why should I tell you?"

With a snort, Peeves wagged a finger at her, "I see what you're doing, you frizzy-headed freak, and it won't work."

Hermione shrugged, "That's a shame, because it's a really good secret."

"Oooohh . . . ," he chewed his lip, weighing the temptation, " . . . all right. What is it?"

"Uh-uh. Where's Malfoy?"

He stuck out his lower lip in a pout. "He's in the Great Hall. Now, what's the secret?"

"Uh," Well, that's one part of the plan she hadn't thought through. Secret, secret, need a secret. Um, let's see, "Harry Potter . . . uh . . . he . . . hates . . . carrots?" Wow. That was bad.

Peeves thought so to. "WHAT?" Launching what must have been the last of the burritos at her head, he vanished.

Wiping beans from her eyes and cheese from her hair, Hermione wasted no time in getting down to the Great Hall. But, as she entered the large, lofty room, she discovered it was Malfoy-less. She had expected as much, after all the information had come via _Peeves_, a man not exactly well known for his honesty.

Still, all was not lost. Sweeping the room, she discovered a rather shaken Hufflepuff chewing his nails in a corner. Hermione approached him on the subject of "a tall-ish Slytherin with white-blond hair."

Suddenly, the color rushed back into his face, and he snarled, "You mean that weird vampire looking guy? Yeah, he was here. I saw him talking with that poltergeist. It was none of my business, so I was ignoring them. But then that puffed-up _jerk _walks over here and grabs my Alchemy project! Right out of my hands! Without a word!"

Puffed-up jerk? It was Malfoy, all right. Still . . . "What was it? Your Alchemy project."

"An enchanted fishing rod. I don't know why he would have—"

Hermione was gone. She had to admit, the reason for Malfoy stealing a fishing rod was beyond her, but with some healthy deduction, there was only one place he could be going. There was only one place to go fishing in Hogwarts.

However, the Great Lake was yet another place sans Malfoy. Spying a small group from an Advanced Herbology class gathering samples on the nearby shore, Hermione decided it was worth questioning them. The boy in the group only gave her a ignorant shrug, but one of the girls squealed:

"Oh, you mean that really cute boy fishing over there?"

"He tried to convince us to come with him out on the lake but we told him we were busy," said the second girl, with a blush.

"He got bored after that and went back to castle."

"He gave us the pole. We've been using it to reel in some of the weeds. It's enchanted you know."

Okay, back to the castle. Oddly, the trail of Draco Malfoy was not hard to pick back up again. Statues and paintings periodically had mustaches and glasses drawn on them.

"Childish, Malfoy," Hermione observed aloud, as she passed a picture of Merlin trying to rub off his new nose ring. "Very puerile."

The trail of vandalism ended at the courtyard, where it wasn't exactly difficult to guess what amusement he'd found for himself there.

Hermione found Harry (Or at least what she assumed was Harry. It _was _wearing glasses.) sprawled out on the cobblestones, groaning through his tentacles, and with more jinxes on him than flies on a horse. Ron and several mumbling onlookers stood by, the former clenching his teeth and grasping his wand in a shaking hand.

"Bloody coward," he mumbled, "He jumped out behind the fountain and threw like twenty curses on Harry, then ran away before I could even draw my wand. That bastard."

Hermione knelt down next to the purple creature, which was excreting a viscous fluid and reeking of wet dog. The anti-jinxes and counter-curses were difficult to decipher, given several of the spells had combined with unique results ("Look, Ron! I think these are elephant tusks!"). When Harry stopped resembling an invader from the planet Geidi Prime, and started to look more like everybody's favorite Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione stood up and gave him room.

Within seconds, the boy had recovered, leapt to his feet , grabbed his wand, and charged away like a runaway locomotive.

"Harry, wait! Oh, for heaven's sake, STOP!" Hermione yelled after him. Harry screeched to a halt.

"What?" he snapped.

"Malfoy is long gone by now. It's not worth the trouble," she assured, approaching him

"Did you see what he did to me? That, that . . . ."

"'No good, rotten, stinking bastard?'" Ron suggested.

"Yes! He just flies out and attacks me for no reason!"

"That slimy git is going to pay." Ron punched his fist into his palm for emphasis.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione reasoned, "it's nothing you haven't done to him hundreds of times."

"Yes, but this one wasn't provoked. I was just walking and —"

"Even so, it's not worth it. You'll forget it soon enough," said Hermione.

"Ha! Not likely! There's certain places hair grows that you don't forget very fast."

Frustrated, Hermione groaned."Ugh. Listen, you'll be late for class. You'll have plenty of time to deal with Malfoy later."

"Speaking of class, where did you go? You just ran out of Potions, and Dean says you didn't show up in Arithmancy." Ron looked at her suspiciously, as though she might be hiding a house elf under her robes.

"That's . . . not important. Off you go to class."

"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry's rage transformed into concern.

Oh, dear, she'd had this conversation before. "Listen, I will tell you that later, but right now I don't have _time_." Ah, irony. "Now please, just go."

"All right, but we both want answers, Hermione."Ron and Harry left for their next class and the crowd dispersed.

Whew. Hermione set off again in pursuit of Malfoy, charting a course that lead in the same direction Harry had seized in his bloodlust. The paintings were all graffiti free, either because Malfoy had realized exactly how immature he was being, or because the mob of students that filled the halls during passing period had prevented him from doing so. As she went, she accosted several students, asking if they'd seen or heard of the pointy-chinned Slytherin.

The answers were surprisingly mixed:

"I haven't seen or smelled that rat-face!" said a third-year Gryffindor boy, with a pierced ear.

"Draco Malfoy? Is that a real person? It sounds like a wine or something," from a pig-tailed first year.

"Malfoy? You know he's actually kind of cute. He's got the nicest eyes. Grey. You don't see grey a lot."

"Malfoy! The name! IT BURNS!"

Those two came from a Ravenclaw couple, trying to transport a large, sleeping nogtail to Care of Magical Creatures without waking it up. ("It took us an hour to catch this sucker.")

Whatever their perception of Malfoy, they hadn't seen him (and in some cases didn't want to see him). It all seemed hopeless, until —

"Quick! Run away!" screamed a peaky little boy as he ran past, "MADMAN ON A BROOM!"

Screams and shouts erupted across the hall as students dove for their life. _Whoosh! _Draco Malfoy zoomed past on his broomstick, blowing up robes in his wake. Cutting through a throng of Ravenclaws, he soared out the window, loop-de-looped, then came back through upside down. Upsetting the couple with nogtail, he streamed down the hall, trailing turmoil.

Hermione ran after him, nearly tripping over a fully awake and extremely freaked nogtail as it dived down the hall with the two Ravenclaws on its hooves. She followed him through the court yard, into the Great Hall, out the doors, down past the Astronomy Tower (he circled the piano twice), over Hagrid's Hut, and to the Quidditch Pitch.

Malfoy landed in the stadium; she watched his distant speck lean his broom against a wall and stretch out on a bench. Breathing hard, face red as a tomato, and chest and sides aching, she stalked the last few yards across the field, using every mental faculty to keep her jelly-like legs from crumbling beneath her.

He watched her as she panted her way towards him, his mouth twisted with amusement and grey eyes sparkling with arrogance. Cupping a hand over his mouth, he called:

"I must say, you put up quite a chase, Granger! I thought taking you through the skrewt paddock would stop you, but you ploughed right through those ugly brutes." He cackled and fingered his broom casually.

Far too tired to respond, Hermione at last reached him and took several moments to regain her breath and composure. Malfoy didn't stop chuckling, no doubt remarking with that satisfied smirk of his how awful she looked. She could feel sticky sweat matting down her frazzled hair. Not to mention the several burns that scorched her bare arms and legs.

_Stupid skrewts . . . _Pant. Pant. _Once this over . . . _Pant. _. . .I'll kill him. Kill him very . . . _Pant. _Very . . . _Pant. Pant. _Slowly . . ._

At last, Hermione could feel cool, fresh air feeling her lungs and the strength returning to her limps. She stood up right and tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ears. Malfoy watched her — like a predator — and she was careful to meet him icy stare for icy stare.

"Listen, Malfoy," she began, filling her voice with authority, "We have to talk. The only way we're going to get out of this is if—"

"— We work together. Yes, yes," he cut her off, waving a dismissive hand, "I'd be a little more impressed with your 'intelligence' if I didn't know you quoted Dumbledore half the time."

"That is beside the point! There must be a reason it only affects us!" Hermione shrieked.

"Or we could simply be very fortunate, or unfortunate depending on how you look at it. It doesn't change the fact we have absolutely nothing in common." Yawning from (obviously) feigned boredom, he stood up and stretched. He reached for his broom.

"But we must try, Malfoy!" She felt her heart racing; he was going to run away again. "Like it or not, we're in this together!" Like it or not, things did not happen at random. There had to be something that tied her and Malfoy together. And the only way she was going to find out what was by working with him.

Malfoy whirled around and glared.

"Look! I've—" Then he stopped, and his eyes went wide with some sort of realization. He rubbed his chin in calculating thought and considered Hermione like Ron would sometimes consider a pawn on a chessboard.

"All right," he said after a long pause, "I'll 'work together'. On one condition, though."

In more an attempt to hide her surprise than an act of defiance, Hermione folded her arms over her chest. "And what might that be?"

"You tell me how Pothead gets into Hogsmeade without anyone knowing."

She blinked. "What? No!"

"Fine then," he sneered and then grasped his broom, mounting it, "Good luck trying to figure your way out of this thing without me."

Hermione chewed her lip. He started to kick off.

"All right! I'll tell you. Just, what are you going to do?"

"That's my concern. What is it?"

Heaving a deep sigh, she actually felt her standards sinking. _Ends justify the means_, echoed in her head, but it wasn't very reassuring. "There's a secret passage under the statue of the one-eyed witch. Tap her hump and say '_Dissendium_.' There's a tunnel from there."

"Thank you," he said in an ironic way, and kicked off the ground He hovered a moment over her head, long enough to say, "My favorite flavor of lollipop, by the way, is lime." With that, he sailed away into the setting sun.

Really?

The clock chimed seven.

Her favorite flavor was grape.

* * *

And thus Chapter Five draws to its close. I hope you liked it. Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Tell me all in a review!

The next chapter shall fly to you on the wings of an eagle. You can count on it.


	6. We're Having a Brawl!

_Time and Time Again _

_Chapter Six: We're Having a Brawl!_

* * *

A bluebird, the brisk morning breeze under its wings, flew over Hogwarts castle just as the large iron bell peeled out seven. Though it was wholly unaware, it had actually flown this exact route five times now. Each time, as it winged over the Astronomy Tower, the bird had considered landing on the piano teetering there.

But, after recollecting the exploits of its cousin with a certain tree, the bluebird thought better of it and flew on, only to be eaten by a large cat when it landed in an innocent-looking bush. Not landing on the piano was actually a very wise decision on the bluebird's part, however, as it actually prolonged its life a little longer.

* * *

There were times (they were few, but frustrating) that Hermione wished she was not burdened by restrictions and obligations and a general need to be morally forthright. Then, she could shove Malfoy's fat head into the ground without any compunctions.

He lied to her. That pointy-faced little jerk lied to her.

Hermione, after a swift trip to the bathroom, had made her jaunty way down to Potions secure in the knowledge that Malfoy would be waiting for her there, ready for a day of detective work. But, as her current frustration might suggest, Malfoy was not there. The eternal optimist reminded her that she had not actually set up a meeting place with Malfoy and, in all probability, he was sitting in the library waiting patiently for her to arrive.

Also, he had baked her cupcakes and had decided to live out the rest of his life as a house elf to atone for his bad deeds.

Ugh.

Malfoy was in Hogsmeade and Heaven help her if she wasn't going to drag him back by his ears.

Climbing into the Honeydukes cellar, Hermione closed the trapdoor behind her and ducked behind a stack of wooden crates. The dusty cellar was vacant, but heavy feet made the floorboards creak above her head, and the strong smell peppermint wafted down through the cracks. Carefully, she slipped through the maze of boxes to the staircase and ascended with as much stealth as she could muster.

She leaned on the door handle enough to open it a crack and peered into the shop. The owner (a portly bald man) was ringing up a tall gentleman's purchase of Chocolate Frogs. Biting her lip, heart beating against her chest, she crouched down, crawled through the door and out from behind the counter. She crawled almost the whole of the shop and stood behind a large display of toffees. Though she felt she was fairly inconspicious, a two-year-old sucking a sugar quill pointed at her and giggled.

Never mind that; it had been pretty good for not having the invisibility cloak. Brushing the dust from the floor off her robes, she opened the shop door and headed out into a bright and shiny morning.

A hand fell on her shoulder. Hermione jumped and whipped around.

It was the tall man with the Chocolate Frogs, flashing his white bicuspids at her in a rather amiable way. Removing his hand, he put in the pocket of an expensive-looking jacket and said with a half-chuckle, "You know, if you want to ditch school, I suggest changing your uniform first."

Blushing, Hermione's hand flew to her Gryffindor insignia. She had been so mad at Malfoy it had not occurred to her.

"No, no, it's too late for that. Here: take my jacket. I never liked it anyway."

Deaf to her fervent protests, he took off his thin blue jacket and pressed it to her. The glossy fabric felt smooth and slick in her hands; her mouth fell open even wider when she realized it was silk. Staring at it dumbly, she held the jacket like she might break it.

He laughed at her, causing yet another hot blush to spring to her cheeks. Hermione thrust the jacket back at him, but he made no motion to take it.

"Sir, I really don't need this," she said, still shoving the jacket into his chest. "Please take it back. Really, I'm perfectly fine."

"They'll have you back and Hogwarts before you can say 'Hungarian Horntail'.Take it; it's actually too warm for a jacket," he ran a hand through his dark hair with an air of disregard.

"But—"

He turned to leave, shrugging as he went.

"Wait!" Hermione cried.

He turned back.

"Thank you."She put an arm in the jacket.

Grinning, he popped a Chocolate Frog in his mouth and left.

It was only until after she had buttoned up the jacket and he was long gone that she realized she had no idea what his name was. However, as a sort of easing of conscience, Hermione remembered that next go around, he (whoever he was) would have his jacket back and this little confrontation will have never happened. She sighed with relief, then readied herself for another Malfoy hunt.

Where, oh where, has Malfoy gone? Oh where, oh where, could he be?

* * *

The Grinning Skull was a veritable dump of a tavern, with greasy floors, cracked and grimy windows, and a thriving community of rats. Walking in was like crossing the threshold of night and day. Outside, a yellow sun lit up the world with undaunted brilliance; inside, melting candles flickered in black, dingy corners. Crammed in the slummier section of Hogsmeade, its patrons were a small but impressive selection of lowlifes. They sat in their chairs and hunched over their drinks with sullen, ill-natured expressions. Every now and then, a brawl broke out which sometimes ended in death. The general consensus was that the Grinning Skull was a filthy manifestation of the evil, corrupt pestilence that plagued the world.

That's where Hermione found Malfoy.

Clean, well-groomed, and dressed in an expensive black robe, the boy shone like an enormous "Mug me!" beacon. You couldn't find someone more out of place. Playing poker with a group of men that looked like they ate iron chains for breakfast, he reclined nonchalantly in his chair and gave his cards a dismissive look, while the four hulking cut-throats licked their lips at a large pile of galleons in the center of the table.

Hermione's immense anger was checked by the very important need not to draw attention to herself in this place. Navigating her way through a sea of empty tables and drunken men sleeping in their beer, she walked up behind Malfoy and hissed into his ear, "What on earth do you think you are doing?"

He jumped and threw his cards in the air.

"Hey, kid! Izzat your girlfriend?" slurred a man with an eyepatch.

Malfoy grimaced and spun on Hermione, "You've got a lot of nerve, Granger. What are you doing here?"

"As I recall, I asked you first, Malfoy. You promised me we would—"

"I'm in the middle of something, if you don't mind," he gestured toward the table, but a man with bright red hair put his broad, tattooed arms around the pot and slid it toward him.

"'s all right, kid. We was just finishin' up anyway."

"She's pretty," continued Eyepatch, "Really pretty. Her skin looks nice and soft. I think I'd like to—"

Hermione made a defensive move toward her wand. The red-haired man clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Pay no attention to my chum, Miss. He's drunk." He smiled at her, revealing a set of black, rotting teeth. She nodded, but kept her hand wrapped around her wand. She turned back to Malfoy.

"We're leaving. Now."

"No. I don't need some jumped-up Mudblood telling me what to do. You leave." Malfoy grasped his cards.

Red-hair frowned. "Now, boy, you'll be regrettin' that harsh language once you and your girlfriend make up," he said slowly, between narrowed eyelids.

"Don't make me sick! She is _not _my girlfriend! As if I would ever stoop so low . . . ." Malfoy contrived to gag.

Suddenly, Red-hair stood and grabbed Malfoy by the collar, hoisting him into the air. Malfoy squealed and flailed, making a desperate attempt to walk in air. Pounding the teenager to the wall, the gigantic brute screamed into his face:

"MY MUM WAS MUGGLE-BORN, YOU TWERP! YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!"

Hermione tugged at his arm, eyes darting between a pale, quivering Malfoy and Red-hair.

"Please, Sir, he didn't mean it!"

A hand snaked around Hermione's waist and yanked her back into its body. Eyepatch leered down at her, mouth so close to her face she could smell the rank stench of stale beer. He gripped her tighter against him, grasping both of her arms in one broad hand so that she could not reach her wand.

"You _are _soft," he rasped.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

A flash of scarlet light and Red-hair went flying across the room. Malfoy had gotten at his wand. The thug crashed to the ground in a explosion of a chairs, tables, and surprised patrons. Eyepatch pushed Hermione away and pulled out his wand, aiming it at Malfoy.

"_Cru—_"

"_Rictusempra!_" Hermione cried and he doubled over in pain.

Malfoy whirled around, surprised.

A roar from the other side of the tavern and Red-hair was up, along with ten other pissed off thugs.

"Shit," Malfoy whispered, taking a step back.

Hermione clenched her teeth, wondering what would happen if she died in a time loop.

A hairy hulk of a man screamed a spell and a jet of orange light streamed at them. They leaped out of the way, but Hermione found herself jumping into the line of fire for another attack. By then, Eyepatch had recovered and made a lunge at Hermione. Spinning around, Malfoy sent a great stream of light that sent him flying into the counter. Glass shattered, wood cracked and Eyepatch was lying in a puddle of beer and broken bottles.

Red-hair heaved a table into the hair and hurtled it at them like a cannonball. Thinking quickly, Hermione grabbed Malfoy's wrist and pulled him down as the table shattered into wooden splinters on the wall behind where his head had been.

A loud, ear-splitting crack came from outside. Then, the door exploded.

* * *

"Prison! I can't believe I'm in prison! I, Hermione Granger, have a prison record! Do you have any idea how that will impede my future job prospects?"

"Would you shut up? By seven tonight, none of this will have ever happened," Malfoy drawled, recumbent on a wooden plank that served as the cell's only seating.

Hermione paced back and forth in the little area the iron-barred compartment provided. Other than the wooden plank chained to the wall, there was a dingy gray toilet jammed into the corner. An unspoken agreement between them dictated that it should go unused.

"Yes, but _I'll _know. And that's all that matters." She leaned against the bars and sighed, putting her face into her hands.

Sitting up, Malfoy scoffed. "You really are a prude. Honestly, no one will remember this. That's the beauty of this time loop. We can do whatever we want."

Hermione shot him a furious glare. "I am not a prude! And no, we can't do whatever we want, because even though no when else will remember it, we _will_. And it will still be on our conscience."

"Oh, please," he said, swinging his legs over the plank, "Granger, you're being ridiculous. So what if we're in jail? We didn't actually do anything wrong."

"That's right! _We _didn't. _You _did. You idiot, what were you doing gambling? And in that slum, of all places? Were you looking to get killed?" She folded her arms across her chest and shot him her best look of utter disapproval. This look, until now, had been especially reserved for Ron when he performed one of his more moronic acts of stupidity.

Unlike Ron, however, who would be an impressive shade of pink by now, Malfoy seemed unfazed by her scalding glare. He yawned and stretched.

"I, unlike you, know how to have a good time. And, I'd like to point out, I'm here because you decided to be a killjoy."

"You're here because you called me a Mudblood."

"I called you a Mudblood because you are one," he smirked.

"Listen, you pompous bigot!" Hermione stormed up and yelled at him."I've had it up to here with you and your pathetic bias! Any civilized person would realize---"

"Are you calling me uncivilized?" Malfoy jumped up.

"Uncivilized for clinging to an archaic belief system that blood plays any part in a person's worth? Yes."

"Shut up! Just shut up!" He roared and clenched his fists.

"Oh! Mature, Malfoy." Voice dripping sarcasm, she scoffed, "If you have these beliefs, you should be able to argue them coherently. Or is it that they are mere mask to compensate for your own feelings of inferiority?"

He hit her. Hard. Right across the jaw.

She stumbled back, feeling the bone throb with pain. Then she hit him back, harder by far then he had hit her.

Reeling from the blow, he fell back on the plank. Bright crimson blood seeped out of his nose. He wiped it away, but tears gave a burning shine to his eyes.

"You don't know _anything_," he spat.

Hermione frowned, reply dying in her throat. She watched his desperate attempts to wipe away the stream of blood using the back of his hand. The futile action only served to make scarlet smears across his pale face. Feeling a swelling of pity despite herself, she removed her jacket and handed it to him.

"Here. Use this."

He didn't even look at it.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy! Using your hand is getting you nowhere."

He sighed and snatched it from her grasp, holding it against his nose without a word.

Minutes passed in silence. Hermione sunk down to the cold cement floor of the cell and sat cross-legged. Though she couldn't say why, she hadn't enjoyed hitting Malfoy that time as much as she had the first. Certainly, after her triumphant blow third year, she had not felt this deep pang of regret.

Suddenly, Malfoy spoke. Holding the bloodstained jacket at arm's length, he said with a strong degree of skepticism, "This is silk. Where'd you get it?"

"A man gave it to me so I could hide my school uniform," she stated.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He tossed the sodden garment at her and lay back down on the plank as if the whole thing was now forgotten. In fact, that smarmy jerk probably thought he'd won the blasted argument.

Seizing the opportunity, however, she decided to plead for cooperation yet again.

"Malfoy, we really do need to work this time loop out."

"I'm not quite ready for it to end yet. I still have plans."

"Oh? And what should I do whilst you carry out these 'plans'?"

He shrugged. "What should I care? Get your own plans. We're in the middle of time loop, Granger. It's a golden opportunity."

"A golden opportunity for what, pray?" she asked, barely concealing the sarcasm.

He turned his head, just enough to peer at her with his gray eyes. Lips curling into an awful little sneer, he snorted decisively before answering.

"You are the worst kind of prude, you know that? Little Miss Perfect, white as snow."

"At least 'Little Miss Perfect' isn't a pampered prat who's wearing too much cologne."

* * *

Happy Halloween, faithful readers! I was watching Nightmare Before Christmas while writing this and I can't tell you how many times I had to stop myself from describing the wonderful holiday atmosphere.

Ah well, I think this chapter turned out pretty well. Draco was being extremely difficult to control. I really didn't plan for so much violence to take place. I meant for them to end up in jail, but for something different entirely. On another note, though, I've finally got the plot figured out! Yay! I don't know if you could tell, but I've more-or-less been making it up as I go along until now. :)

Thanks for reading. Also, my birthday's in four days, so please gift wrap your review.

Much love, Frith


	7. Drake and Cherries Jubilee

_Time and Time Again_

_Chapter 7: Drake and Cherries Jubilee_

* * *

Draco found himself staring, once again, into his dorm room mirror, unbroken comb in hand. Pansy waltzed up and greeted him with the usual singsong voice.

"Yes, yes. Dracito. Very clever. Pansy, I have a headache," he murmured, prying her arms off his waist.

"Oh," Pansy stepped back a respectful distance, "Do you need anything? I can take you to the infirmary."

"No. Just leave."

A little bewildered at his sudden coldness, Pansy crept away, pale with worry. Draco watched her reflection leave, closing the door softly behind her. With a disgusted snort, he threw his comb down and fell backwards on the bed, head swimming with a fatigue that should have disappeared at seven.

His nose felt better, he noticed, fingering his pointy proboscis tenderly, but several hours in an enclosed space with Granger had worn on his nerves. Prison, he thought, would not be half as bad if it were not for the mind-numbing boredom and barely liveable compartments.

Granger had been a joy, of course. After the initial confrontation, during which she sent an unwarranted blow to his noble face, they spent the time in a heavy silence. Draco memorized a questionable stain on the roof. It looked like some sort of grape juice, but what it was doing on the roof, or much less, in a prison cell, was beyond him.

However, about two hours into Draco's attempt to count to infinity, McGonagall showed up, a thunderstorm in tow. After bailing them out, she glowered at them both, face wrinkled and puckered, and unleashed the lightning.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! Mr. Malfoy, I more-or-less expected this of you, but MISS GRANGER! YOU! IN PRISON! What are you two doing together, anyway? Is that blood, Mr. Malfoy? THIS IS AN ABSOLUTE DISGRACE! Now, I want both of you to march, single file, out of this jail. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? MARCH!"

She crackled and fizzled with rage, pointing a quivering wand at Draco, as though she was positive he had corrupted her favorite student. Granger burst into tears, which Draco knew were not fake, and skulked out of prison. He followed.

Outside, Snape stood with his eyebrow arched at its most extreme.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger," he snarled as they approached, "I assume you've already gathered your time at Hogwarts has ended."

At this, Granger bawled and wailed with increasing ferocity. "Shut up, Girl," Snape snapped, but to no avail. Granger continued squalling like a baby.

"Don't be an idiot, Granger," Draco hissed, but the girl was senseless.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, a considerable crowd gathered. Snape and McGonagall, both grim, cleared a path for the condemned. By that time, Granger had stopped crying but she sniffed a lot. Draco attempted to maintain some amount of dignity, which was difficult next to Miss Puffy-Red-Eyes. Though, he could not help but smirk when he spotted Potter and Weasley in the crowd, with sublime expressions of befuddlement. He gave them a wink as he passed.

Granger started afresh once they got to Dumbledore's office. Really, that girl could have fueled Niagra Falls with her tears. The headmaster scolded, was disappointed, and punished — two months' worth of detention with Filch (Draco felt significantly relieved that he would not have to serve that.). As Dumbledore wrote a note to Filch confirming this, Draco wondered vaguely what the punishment would be if Potter were sitting in his chair. A light slap on the wrist perhaps? _Probably some sort of reward_, he scoffed.

Seven struck, ending the fiasco.

Now, Draco Malfoy sprawled out on the bed, pondering the ceiling.

He wasn't thinking big enough. Really, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and here he was frittering it away on gambling. He had set out with a vague notion of finding Hogsmeade's red light district, but either it didn't have one or it had some sort of spell to hide it from minors. Damned unfair, really.

So, after a few hours of wondering about, making advances toward every attractive female he passed, he wound up in that greasy tavern.

In truth, he wasn't exploiting the situation to its full potential. Now, he had to _think. _He needed to do something _big_. Something that he would never do — whether because his parents wouldn't let him, or he just would never dream of it . . . .

If Draco had known about light bulbs, one would have clicked on above his head.

* * *

Though Hermione was firmly against vulgar language, she believed there were situations that called for them. These situations were ones of supreme frustration, rage, or hatred.

Smothered in pudding for the umpteenth time? Check.

Stuck in a time loop with the physical embodiment of malice and arrogance? Check.

Perpetual time loop with no end in sight? Check.

Yes, these definitely fit the criteria.

_Damn _Draco Malfoy. _Damn _him to _Hell_.

Shoving a glob of pudding from her hair into Seamus's face, Hermione grabbed her books and stalked to the library. Harry followed.

"Hermione! Wait up!"

Pointedly ignoring him, she tromped up the stairs, fuming storm clouds and static electricity in a manner not unlike McGonagall. Harry, however, ignored the warning signs and kept after her. Reaching out and grasping her hand, he pulled her to a halt. Hermione turned and fixed him in a stare so chilly it would have sent polar bears running for the electric blanket.

This has got to be said for Harry: he was in Gryffindor for a reason. He faced her feminine wrath undaunted.

"Hermione, I know something's up. Is it Seamus? He said he was sorry and he meant it."

Had she been eleven still, or had she not just endured Malfoy's stench for several hours, Hermione's knees might have buckled as she gazed into the depths of his green eyes. If she had not spent half the day in prison, she might have let her anger cool beneath thoughts of her girlish fancies for Harry, which had long ago faded into a platonic feeling but still kept The Boy Who Lived in one of the softer places of Hermione's heart. If it would have made a difference once the time looped, she might have let go of every ounce of her rage.

"I'm busy. Leave me be." Wrenching her arm from Harry's grip, she set back on her course for the library.

"Hermione— "

"HARRY! Go away!"

She had wasted enough time looking for help from Malfoy, that self-serving, egotistical, pampered, undeserving— _Argh!_— So-and-so! (She had sworn enough for one day.) She would proceed without him, solve the time loop and end the endless Tuesday. If Malfoy benefitted from all her hard work and research, so be it! Consoling herself that some sort of revenge would visit Malfoy later, she trudged into the library, slammed her books on her table, and found the section on time.

Hermione ran her finger over the spines, searching for a relevant title, but felt her heart sink under nothing but volumes about time turners and their dangers. When she had settled herself back at her table with the few books she could find, she pulled the first from the stack, _The Advanced Laws of Time and Space and Their Plausible Applications in the Wizarding World_, and cracked it open to the first page.

_There are many debates_, Hermione read, _as to the actual shape of time. Some contend that it is a straight line, stretching into eternity. Some feel it might take the form of a circle, while others believe it might actually look more like an elaborate pretzel . . . _

As hard as Hermione tried to pay attention, she found her thoughts unwillingly drifting to her conversation with Malfoy last time loop. It played back in her mind: hitting him, the blood, the brawl beforehand, and the reasons why he wasn't ready for the time loop to end just yet.

_. . . Time travel further contorts the shape. If a person (A) went back twenty years in time, would A have not already gone back in time, or actually create an entire new "thread" in time by his or her action . . ._

He had talked of it as an opportunity to do whatever they pleased. Though she disapproved of his morals, she had to admit he was right. If she chose to approach McGonagall today, she knew her favorite teacher would only greet her with smiles, not a single recollection of the jail scenario lingering in her memory.

_. . . It might be possible that thousands upon thousands of time lines exist, splintering from the main one every time a choice is made. The possibilities are endless . . ._

The possibilities _were _endless. Furrowing her brow, she pushed the book away and sunk back into her chair as she adjusted to the uncomfortable feeling of Malfoy being right. The time loop erased everything. Unlike a time turner, where time simply folded over on itself, each new loop erased the blackboard of the universe and started anew.

_She was firmly against vulgar language _. . . . She didn't use foul words on the principle that pasting them in her vocabulary demeaned her intelligence and impeccable character. However — and her heart beat fiercely as she felt herself drawing closer and closer to the line — perhaps, given the situation, her impeccable character would not be tarnished with a little healthy venting — especially if the indiscretion became void in seven hours.

She opened her mouth, a mere slit, wide enough for a whisper, but courage filled her breast and she opened it wider.

"DRACO MALFOY IS A BASTARD!"she screamed, lips burning, pulse racing.

A startled gasp escaped the librarian as her head jerked up to fix Hermione in a severally shocked and scandalized stare. But by then, flying high on wings of the brazen transgression, no sour-faced old woman could have stopped her shaking a rush of adrenaline. She could do _anything_.

She stood and walked out of the door, with each step the scales tipping further and further in favor of cutting loose. _Just this once. I won't get a chance like this again. I just . . . I just want to see what it's _like.

* * *

After a fair amount of struggling, Draco managed a snug fit into his new leather robes. He had tapped into his savings in order to buy the extremely expensive outfit and Father was sure to turn a color red to rival the tomato when he found out, but that was the beauty of the entire affair. If he did find out, it wouldn't matter. Stage one complete; now, stage two of his several stage plan involved a great sacrifice.

Inspecting himself in the full length in the dank clothing boutique, he decided he rather liked the effect the shiny black leather had against his pale skin. Still, if he was to truly slip into his anti-Draco character, he needed more than a change in wardrobe.

He turned to the seamstress, who sat organizing her other leather samples, and coughed. She looked up.

"Excuse me, do you know of a hair salon around here?"

* * *

Like any girl Hermione's age, she did spend a little time fussing over her weight ---- obviously less time then sum. She followed the food pyramid as faithfully as she could, eating starchy foods in very small amounts and not very often. While pacing in the halls in a ill-working attempt to tame her pulse and figure out exactly what she was to do with her new found daring, it occurred to Hermione that the last "sweet" she had eaten was a pumpkin pasty aboard the Hogwarts Express.

Powered by that thought, she tickled the picture of the pear and stepped into the kitchen, knowing full well that she was also flouting a few principles as far as the enslavement of elves went, but trying really hard not to care.

Naturally, the elves looked askance as she stepped through the portrait hole, S.P.E.W. still fresh in their memory, and made a move to flee in order to avoid being clothed. In an effort to make peace, Hermione spread her arms to display that the only clothes she had brought were the ones she was wearing. This soothed them, and Dobby approached with the usual cheerful smile.

"How can Dobby help?" he bobbed, wringing his socked hands in anticipation.

Hermione tried to mask her surprise at finding the elf using a pink, lacy bra as a fashionable hat. However, after failing to conceal her laughter, Dobby blinked, obviously confused, which did nothing to make his appearance less hilarious.

"I'm sorry, Dobby," she said after catching her breath, rosy cheeked, "I just came down to ask, if it's all right, if you and your friends can make cherries jubilee?"

Dobby blinked again, scratching his forehead just beneath the frilly cup. He knew Hermione well enough to find the request unwonted.

Nevertheless, another elf overheard her request and skirted forward, bouncing with glee.

"Yes, ma'am, yes! We make cherries jubilee! We make it good! You want some, yes?" He grasped her hand and shook it up and down.

"Um, yes, if it's not too much trouble," she answered.

"Then we make for lady! You sit! Sit, sit!" And, after almost pushing her into a stool, the elf dashed away.

It seemed that Hermione barely had time to put her bottom on the offered wooden stool when three house elves skipped toward her, hoisting a flaming desert upon their shoulders. Stomach growling with desire, her eyes could only feast on the smouldering dish, served over melting vanilla ice cream. Her stomach gave another angry rumble when her nose filled with the scent of sweet cherries. They set it on the small table before her, spooning the fiery mixture onto a separate plate and weaving a charm to douse the blaze.

She had not had cherries jubilee since her childhood, where she received it at a grandmother's birthday party. Though obscured by time, she had fond memories of this particular desert. Dobby slipped a silver spoon into her hand, while an audience of elves held their breaths. An ironic smile playing across her lips, Hermione considered what cherries jubilee symbolized. By taking a bite, she waved goodbye— at least for a day— to "Little Miss Perfect," as Malfoy called her. This action, this spoonful of cherry-goodness, represented a dive off the deep end, a casting away of self: the psychological equivalent of dyeing her hair green and joining a cult that sacrificed cats to pagan gods.

. . . And no one would remember.

Hermione plunged in her spoon---the elves squirmed---and slid the delectable desert between her lips.

* * *

Time faded fast and the seconds dwindled closer to seven o'clock. Draco slipped back into Hogwarts, buzzing with a strange feeling of universal oneness. Anti-Draco, or Drake, as he had fondly called him, had been a fantastic success. Shedding off his old persona, like a snake, Draco embraced a darker, more dangerous side of his nature that had hitherto been buried under heaps and heaps of aristocratic breeding.

He had "slummed it"! He had talked with a man name Gooseliver, who, due to some sort of magical miscalculation, had developed a third eye and a voice like a little girl's. He drank fire whiskey and smoked cigarettes! A transvestite goblin hit on him! Leather robes still squeaking, hair still reeking of gel, and chest still smarting, Draco walked down the corridor, eager to reveal "Drake" to the Hogwarts student body. Life vibrated around him, how exhilarating the day was!

As he rounded a corner, he spied the unused girls' lavatory. Pansy had said it was haunted by a rather annoying ghost, and thus left vacant. Checking the halls (empty), Draco pushed open the door. He wished to make sure Drake looked presentable before his rendezvous in the Great Hall. The door creaked ominously, and a horrible stink made him gag. Undaunted, he stepped in and walked steadily toward the mirrors, his footsteps echoing and leather creaking in the emptiness. Until—

"EUUGHHH!"

"This is a lesson to you, you know. An entire cherries jubilee? _Tsk. _That was bad enough, but then you had to follow it up with all those cookies and ice cream. Not to mention the cheese cake, cupcakes, and fudge! Wow. You're a pig. You'll be fat now. Some of those pounds will stay with you forever."

The voices came from one of the stalls, and immediately Draco recognized the smell. Vomit: lots of it. Crouching low, he peered under the stalls and spied the legs of one girl, in the action of kneeling before the porcelain throne, and a pair of ghostly feet hovering in the air. Another unflattering sound, and the ghost giggled.

"I'll call you Up-Chuck-Mione."

"Be quiet, won't you?" murmured the girl.

_Oh, God. _Draco bolted up and made a move for the door, only to trip over his new boots. He plunged, face first, into the ground.

"What was that?" Granger's voice asked, shock temporarily reviving her from nausea.

Moaning Myrtle, as Pansy had refereed to the ghost, stuck her head out of the stall door. One look at the boy sprawled out on the floor and her pale face broke into an enormous grin. Sailing over to his side, she inspected him: spending a great deal of time smirking at his bared chest, and burst into a riotous fit of laughter.

"Myrtle? Myrtle, what is it?" She stumbled to her feet as Myrtle continued to hoot.

_Oh, God. No, no, no. Why isn't she in the library? The one person who can remember this! Oh, shit. Why, why, why did it have to be her?_

A gasp. Draco flinched and quickly made attempts to right himself for the benefit of his pride. Struggling to his feet, he futilely batted away Myrtle's pointing finger.

"Look at him! Look at all that leather!" Myrtle screeched, spectral tears streaming down her face. He brought himself to face Granger.

Face pale, hair disheveled, and robes rumpled and unkempt, Granger's mouth was wide enough to march an elephant through. She gaped at him in horror. Draco could only stare back, painfully aware of all the steps he had taken to prepare Drake. He now knew it was physically impossible to die of embarrassment, for no situation had better called for it.

Myrtle howled again, and proclaimed "I've got to go tell Peeves!" before taking off, leaving them alone.

_Floor? Suck me in. Right now. If you have any mercy at all, you will swallow me whole._

"You— are you— is that—" such were Hermione Granger's first attempts at speech.

_Floor, I mean it! Do it now! Gods of karma? I really think this is unnecessary. _

"Is that a _tattoo_!?"

Ah, so the tattoo was the first thing she noticed. He didn't blame her, as the large ink dragon filled the majority of his upper torso. Following her eyes, which were directed right at his pectorals, Draco watched as his new tattoo blew black fire that writhed and squirmed across his chest.

"And your hair! It's red! And it's in a Mohawk!"

Two observation points for Granger.

"You're wearing nothing but _leather_! Your ears are pierced! And your nose! Is that a fish?"

The girl had an amazing talent. As Granger subsided back into speechless bewilderment, eyes still fixed upon his moving tattoo, Draco seized the opportunity to belittle her appearance.

"You've got vomit on your shirt," he said with a superior turn to his mouth, feeling control of the situation back in his clutches. That one remark was all it took to turn Granger as red as cherry.

"Oh, no! Um . . ." She wiped frantically at an orangish stain, while giving him a pleading look to proceed no further. But Draco had never been known for being merciful.

"It smells God awful in here, Granger. I expect you've regurgitated your entire stomach by now," he chuckled. He really had her; she was like a mouse squirming under a lion's paw. Normally, this was the part that Weasley came out and jumped him. Feeling slightly giddy, he decided to milk the situation for all that it was worth.

"Really, Granger, I'd have thought you had more sense," Draco said airily, feeling the mistake the minute Granger's head jerked up.

Embarrassment vanished like a vapor, replaced by steel. Looking fierce and bothered, her hands seized her hips and her eyebrows clashed together. He realized he had seen her like this before, but usually Weasley was on the receiving end.

"Sense? _Sense?_ You have the nerve to lecture me on sense?" Draco tried very hard not to feel intimidated. "You! You, who prance in here looking like some sort of—Of HOOLIGAN!"

"'Hooligan'? What are you, eighty?" he carped, but she ignored him.

"Just look at you! For goodness sake, that entire robe is made out of leather! Do you realize how stupid that is? Not only was it ridiculously expensive, I assume, but you look like someone out of the '50s! And your hair! It looks like you ran it through the lawn mower----"

"—What?"

"And don't think I can't smell the alcohol on your breath, because I can and it's pungent!"

"So, I had a few fire whiskies. It's not any of your business— "

"Then you get a monstrous tattoo (and I haven't even _started_ on the fish) and you have the nerve to call me senseless?" Granger's tirade ended; she stood panting.

Draco felt the deep wounds dealt to Drake. His vanity had suffered, as well as his dignity, all because of some jumped-up little Mudblood! Finger raised and mouth opened, he prepared to refute every ounce of the lies she had just told. But no words came, and he remained silent. Well, all right, they weren't lies. Draco had to admit he looked a little bizarre, but that had been the entire point of the experiment! If Granger lacked the intelligence to grasp that, then it was not his fault.

He opened his mouth again to tell her this, but was cut off by a sudden greenish color that had taken hold of Granger's face. Swaying and clasping her stomach, she lurched back to the toilet. Once the gagging sounds began, Draco took them as his cue to depart the lavatory quietly.

* * *

Seven struck.

* * *

What's this? An update? Forsooth! Please insert usual reasons for lack of updates here, and I promise I won't make you wait near as long for the next chapter.

So, things advance nicely in the story. As I did file this under "romance," I've been trying to sneak more and more Draco/Hermione action in, but I've been desperately trying to keep their interaction realistic. Therefore, no actual lovey-dovey stuff for awhile, but you can wait, can't you?

Also, I now have a livejournal! If you'd like to check it out (and maybe friend me ) click on the link in my profile.

Please review with your comments and criticisms! Did you know every time you review an angel gets its wings?

Frith


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